


A Man Walks Into a Wine Store

by wonderlandiscrumbling



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate plot, Heavy Drinking, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Illness, Mentions of homicide, mentions of child abuse, season three, self-harm mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-04-23 16:18:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19154596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderlandiscrumbling/pseuds/wonderlandiscrumbling
Summary: It's just one quick glance but Ed can swear to God for just that split second that this woman looks like Kristen. This startling moment leads to him needing time to think about his life, the events leading up to now and his current relationship.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just the thought of what if Ed had technically seen Isabella at the liquor store, but she doesn't look like a clone of Kristen. She just mildly resembles her but Ed's mind projects for a quick second that she's her spitting image.

It’s only a fleeting glance. Something in his brain telling him to turn his head just the slightest bit to the right, just one quick look. When he pulls his gaze from the bottle in his hand and looks at the woman standing not too far from him, he gasps. 

“Kristen?” He’d asks, his voice trembling, fingers numbing as anxiety and fear clasp onto his heart.

The woman ignores him because she isn’t Kristen, he knows that she isn’t. He’s quick to avert his gaze, he lowers his head and closes his eyes, a trick his psychologist taught him as a teenager.

‘Close your eyes, count to ten, tell yourself it’s only a hallucination, they aren’t real.’ 

When he opens his eyes and looks towards the woman again, he really looks at her. She isn’t Kristen, same eye color, same nose, but she isn’t her. This time though she’s looking back at him, she smiles awkwardly as if wondering why this weird man is gawking at her in the middle of the wine aisle. 

Ed mutters a quick excuse of “I thought you were a friend of mine, sorry.” Before shuffling away, bottle of red wine clutched tightly in his hand.

He proceeds to pay and hurry out of the liquor store and back into the safe confines of his old car he’s had since graduating college. A gift he’d given to himself to make up for the car he’d never gotten on his sixteenth birthday, one typically didn’t get gifts when in the orphanage. 

He remains in the parking lot attempting to clear his mind, rationalizing just why he would think he’d seen Kristen in there. Truth be told he hasn’t thought about her ever since Oswald bailed him out of Arkham, he’d been preoccupied with first getting Butch out of the picture, and then helping Oswald with his newly appointed status as mayor. He hadn’t had the time to be alone with his thoughts, his fears, and his regrets. He leans his head back against the headrest, bottle still clutched in his hand.

‘Shit’

He knows he’s going to be late to dinner. He looks back down at the bottle then up at the store window, neon heart flashing on the glass surface. 

“We both know exactly why he wants to have dinner with you.” A voice echoes from the backseat of the car.

“It’s just dinner.” He replies; gaze fixed ahead.

He’s known for years that he’s supposed to ignore his hallucinations. Ignore the hallucinations, take his antipsychotic medications, call one of his ten past psychologists if he starts to feel himself slipping again. He’d stopped doing those things off and on through the years, flushed the pills down the toilet the first night at the mansion after being let out of Arkham, he doesn’t like the way they make him feel.

“Exactly. You have dinner with him almost every night and it’s never a big deal, just meals either he makes or that bitch of a cook he has makes for you. Why all of the sudden is it a big deal unless it’s….”

Ed closes his eyes; he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and considers hurling the bottle towards the man who isn’t there and isn’t real.

“It isn’t a date.”

“What if it is?”

Good question.

It isn’t like he hasn’t considered it. Quite frankly he’s been considering it quite heavily even before being sprung from Arkham the idea had been there. Little thoughts that bloomed from the rather endearing gifts Oswald would send him, like the sweater given to him that he wore often because it smelled of the other man’s colognes. Even after getting out of Arkham he’d fall asleep holding it like a child would hold a teddy bear, then the night after being attacked by Butch he’d slept so well wrapped up in the expensive robe that smelled like his friend. His heart beats a faster pace as he thinks of his friend, he strokes his thumb across the smooth glass surface of the bottle, his grip loosening as he thinks of brilliant green eyes that stare up at him as if he’s someone special.

Images of Kristen’s eyes wide and full of fear overtake his mind, the feeling of her throat clasped in his large hand, his fingers pressing against her soft skin choking the life out of her. 

He opens his eyes.

“How long do you think you can make it before killing him? At least get past first base, I know you’ve been wondering if he’s loud or quiet in bed.”

“Shut up, don’t….Don’t say things like that.” He scolds, he glares in the rear-view mirror. He sees the image of himself sitting in the backseat, wicked grin on his face.

“I know you better than anyone else does Eddie, you’re just like dad even if you like to pretend you aren’t.” 

He wants to tell him he’s wrong, he wants to argue he isn’t like his dad. 

He looks back in the rear-view mirror to only see himself with his father’s eyes, his same dark brown hair that goes into unruly curls the moment it becomes wet. He’s only three inches taller than his father, but he has his same build. He looks away, looks at the bottle. He lays it on the passenger seat and starts up the car, he needs to think.


	2. Chapter 2

He parks his car at the tree line of the woods that he’s visited on and off throughout his life. He peers into them and knows exactly what types of things go on in those woods, where the bodies are hidden, and how they’ll never be found. 

Ed picks up the bottle, he situates it between his legs, retrieves his switch blade from his jacket pocket flicking it open. He plunges the blade into the cork that acts as a barrier between him and a thirty-eight dollar bottle of red wine. He twists and pulls attempting to shimmy the cork out but only succeeds in ripping it in half, the top half clinging to his blade, the rest stuck in the bottle. He pulls the cork from his knife tossing it onto the floorboard then pushes against what’s stuck in the bottle’s neck until it releases falling into the sea of red bobbing along as he gives the bottle a gentle shake before taking a long drink from it. 

He closes his knife shoving it back into his pocket then retrieves his cell phone, he checks the time and sees that it’s five after ten, he’s very late for his not date.

“It’s a date, you know it’s a date.” He says to himself as he flips his phone open then snaps it shut, he repeats the motion until his phone vibrates.

‘Is everything okay?’ Says the text on the screen.

He wants to text back that everything isn’t okay. He’s sitting in his car outside of the woods where he buried his dead girlfriend and drinking a bottle of wine that had been meant for a date that he was avoiding because he has a crippling fear of himself, of what he’s capable of. 

He closes his phone again and tosses it onto the passenger seat, he continues to drink wine and stare into the woods. He sees figures, shadows and figures of white light darting through the trees as if they’re playing a game of tag with one another. He watches as a shadow tackles a figure of light to the ground, watches as they bring something down onto the figure’s face repeatedly. Wind blows and they all disappear, he takes another long drink from the bottle.

His head feels light, vision swimming as he makes his way through the bottle. There’s a tingling in his fingertips and he can see these rippling waves in the world outside of his car as if reality is bending and breaking around him. He chuckles to himself as he thinks about Kristen’s death and how he’d assumed it to be a terrible nightmare, he’d fallen asleep holding her body and praying to God that he’d wake up in her warm embrace and none of it happened.

“Why did I tell her?” He asks out loud.

“You wanted me to see you.”

He looks in the rear view and sees her sitting in the backseat wearing her night gown from the night she died, her hair is messy, bruises wrap around her throat like a choker in the shape of his hand. He looks down and takes note that she’s missing her right hand, the bloody stump resting in her lap staining her clothes. 

“If you hadn’t yelled, if you’d just let me finish speaking. I thought you would understand, you said you wanted him dead.” He tries to reason with a dead woman.

She smiles and shakes her head, “I wasn’t being literal Ed. I didn’t really want him dead, in fact if he’d come back, I would have gone right back to him. I would have forgotten all about you.” She taunts as she leans forward.

“He hurt you, why would you want to be with somebody who thinks it’s okay to do that to you?” He asks, frustration wells up inside him.

“Why did your mom stay with your dad?” She asks suddenly.

He looks away from her, tears burn his eyes. He thinks of mornings he would wake up and go down into the kitchen for breakfast to find his dad gone and his mom standing in front of the stove, one eye blackened and her lip split. She would smile and tell him good morning, tell him to hurry up and eat or else he’d be late catching the bus. She would act as if her face wasn’t busted and bruised, as if it were normal that her husband flew off the handle every now and again after losing his job, after having his medical license revoked. She didn’t even speak up when her husband hurt their own son.

‘Mother is god in the eyes of a child.’ He thinks and there’s something very untrue or horrible about that saying.

“You didn’t deserve to be treated that way; nobody deserves that.” He says, his voice cracks and he’s fighting the urge to stutter.

“I’m not your mom Ed. Saving me wouldn’t have changed what happened to her.” She says solemnly.

There’s a long silence before she opens the car door and gets out. He watches her as she runs towards the trees disappearing into them as if being swallowed up. Ed grabs his phone and the bottle; he gets out of the car and rushes towards the trees running after her as if she’s the white rabbit hiding all the answers to his questions. He stumbles and nearly falls over fallen branches and stray rocks, his heart pounds in his chest and his movements are unsteady as alcohol weighs down his body. For a moment he thinks he sees her standing there, dirt staining her feet and her calves, but when he gets closer, he sees his mom. She stands there in her jeans and her black dress shirt, her eyes are glazed over, and bruises decorate her arms and her neck. 

“Mom?” His voice is weak, timid as he walks towards her. He reaches a hand out to her wanting to touch her to see if she’s real. He wants to hug her; he wants to cry and tell her that he’s missed her ever since he was a kid. He wants to scream at her for not leaving sooner, for waiting too long to get the strength to gather up her child and try to get out of that house of horrors. 

When he’s almost there he trips over a rock and falls face first onto the ground. He groans and rolls onto his side, he lifts the bottle dismayed to see quite a bit of the wine spilled onto the ground. He pulls himself up onto his elbow and brings the bottle to his lips drinking what’s left before throwing the bottle. He collapses onto his back staring up at the night sky full of stars that he can make out through the leaves and reaching branches. He curls his fingers in the dirt beneath him and wonders if just maybe he can sink into it.

He feels his phone vibrating in his pocket again for what has to be the twentieth time, he pulls it out, flips it open and begins to scroll through the texts.

‘Why aren’t you answering?’

‘I’m getting worried, please just text me back.’

‘Did I do something wrong?’

He swallows hard, he strokes his thumb over the words of the last text before closing it and shoving it back into his pocket. 

“You can’t hide out here forever.”

He looks to see himself crouching on the ground watching him. 

“I can try.” He responds.

“Don’t you think he already knows every little thing wrong with you?”

“He only knows what I’ve told him.”

Which isn’t much.

Riddler laughs, “Yeah and he’s definitely not had Gabe or one of his other guys look into you. I’m sure he’s got a folder on you; he just doesn’t want you to know.”

“We’re friends, he wouldn’t do that.” 

He knows its bull shit even before the words leave his mouth. He wants to be hurt by the thought of Oswald finding out about him through snooping, but a background check is a smart thing in their line of work, one needs to know who they are entrusting. 

“Like you didn’t search through his files after you met him at the GCPD.”

“We didn’t really know each other yet…I was curious about him and besides it wasn’t like he was willing to talk to me about anything.” Ed argues, it’s a lame reason.

He remembers how thick the file on Oswald had been. He remembers how often his name changed depending on the year and month he flipped to; first the name had been Veronica Kapelput then Cobblepot then finally changed to Oswald Cobblepot. He wondered why the change in last name, he figured that it was easier to pronounce than Kapelput. He thinks about Oswald’s mugshots from his teen years, his hair short and blond, he’d often be bruised and bleeding from where he’d fought guys twice his size or from getting smart with arresting officer Harvey Bullock who had had a tendency of getting a little too rough when arresting the kid.

“Maybe you should try to have a heart to heart with him, just like you did with Kristen.”

He chooses to ignore him this time. He slowly pulls himself up from the ground stumbling as he gets to his feet. He leans against a tree feeling as if he’s going to vomit or pass out, he realizes that this is the most alcohol he’s consumed in his adult life. He begins walking again, two minutes later he’s doubled over and vomiting by a tree. He feels shaky by the time he’s finished and begins stumbling through the woods again, he doesn’t stop until he’s out and halfway to his car. 

As he gets closer, he swears that he sees his father sitting on the hood of his car wearing the same black and white suit he’d worn that day before everything went even more to shit than it already had. He sits there watching as Ed collapses to the ground.


	3. Chapter 3

He wakes up at home. Not the home that he’s recently been making with Oswald, but the one that he spent the first twelve years of his life. He sits up in the twin sized bed that is now much too small to accommodate his long limbs, he looks around at his surroundings taking in the band posters on the walls, the window that overlooks the backyard. There’s a dresser in the right-hand corner with action figures posed upon its surface, if memory serves him correctly, he has Dungeons and Dragons and Magic the Gathering as well as the Buffy the Vampire Slayer gameboard stashed away in a chest in his closet. He smiles thinking about how he had to hide those games solely because of the rare times his grandmother would visit, she found supernatural games to be a source of demonic energy.

The sweet smell of pancakes draws him away from his childhood room, he smiles as more pleasant memories flood his mind. There’s an excitement he hasn’t felt since he was a kid that fills every fiber of his being as he darts out of the room and races down the stairs hoping that when he reaches the kitchen he’ll see his mother there, but she won’t be bruised with tear filled eyes, she’ll be glowing and happy. There’s a pure joy in his heart as he rushes through the living room and into the small dining room that leads into a kitchen that is ‘quant’ as his mother always put it. He comes to a halt in the room, heart sinking.

The room is empty, darkness comes over the room. Dusts coats the countertops, spiderwebs inhabit the corners of the ceiling, there’s rust and grime on the stove top. He almost cries being in this desolate room, realizing that his mother and all traces of her are gone as if she never was. 

He turns and leaves the room wanting to just wake up from this frustrating walk through memory lane. He pauses when he hears noises coming from the basement. A familiar chill crawls down his spine as he looks towards the basement door that is typically kept shut but right now it’s cracked open just the slightest bit, tempting him to peak inside to see what secrets hide underground. He takes cautious steps towards the door knowing what awaits him, his skin crawls and his heart is thudding a heavy beat as he wraps his fingers around the door knob pulling the door open wider so he can peer down into the seemingly endless darkness below.

There’s an urge to turn and run, just run until he finds a way back to the woods. Yet he descends the stairs allowing the darkness to swallow him up like the gaping maw of a monster.

The air feels thick and suffocating as he reaches the landing. He swallows hard, limbs numbing as he follows a familiar path. The basement is rather large, at one time years ago it was just for storage but it hadn’t taken long for it to turn into something more sinister. The new lights his father had installed gave the room the cold feeling of a hospital, too much white light washing everything out. Metal tables were lined up in the middle of the room, drawers along a wall across from him were filled with medications and medical equipment, none of these items his father was meant to have. 

Hunched over one of the metal tables he spots his father. He stops and watches, wants to peak over his shoulder to see what or who his dad is working on. He remembers the stench, overwhelming rot of flesh and formaldehyde. He rubs at his throat feeling as if the chemicals are choking him, drowning him. He freezes when his father suddenly turns to face him, his eyes are manic behind his glasses, a grin plastered on his face. Ed remembers that it’s rarely a good sign when his father is smiling at him. 

“There you are, come here I want to show you something.” He says, he gestures for his son to come closer.

Hesitantly he obeys, his steps careful as he inches closer. His brain is screaming at him to turn and run from here, but his body works of its own accord now. Once he’s close to the table his father backs away revealing what he’s been working on. 

He feels his heart stop as he stumbles backwards, his eyes are locked on the body laid out on the table unclothed and skin so lacking in color that it’s ashen. 

“Oswald?” His voice is a choked whisper, he feels sick.

There are bruises around his throat and a gaping wound in the center of his chest, despite the brutal wounds his face looks peaceful. He moves closer to him, his hands are shaking as he takes his face in his hands, fingers stroking against ice cold skin. 

“Oswald please, wake up. Come on please, don’t do this to me.” He begs, tears rolling down his cheeks and dripping onto the dead man’s skin. He pets his fingers through his hair, fear clenches his heart as he pleads for him to open his eyes. 

He turns to glare at hiss father who stands idly by watching them. “What did you do to him?” He asks, anger dripping from his words.

“Me? I’m simply trying to fix the mess that you made.” He says pointing at his son.

Ed looks back down at Oswald, he gingerly strokes his fingertips along the bruises that circle his neck. He feels sick as he backs away from him, some part of him tells him he knows deep down that he is the one who did this, who killed him. He stumbles back tripping and falling to the floor, he covers his face with his hands and screams wanting it all to just go away.

He’s jolted awake by the shrieking of his car horn; he jerks his head back the sound immediately ceasing. He groans shivering as pain shoots through his skull sending chills down the back of his neck. He rubs his hands over his face slowly remembering the event of the night, remembering the woman he thought was Kristen, the bottle of wine, his alcohol fueled nightmare.

“Oswald” He says his name as if it’s a sudden revelation, he shoves his hands into his pockets searching for his phone, panic filling him when he doesn’t fill it. He checks the seats and the floorboards of his car not finding it anywhere.

He knows that he needs to go home and judging by the fact his car is now parked only a foot away from the road, the keys sitting in the cup holder he’d planned on heading back at some point in his drunken stupor. He laughs to himself thinking how crashing his car and Oswald being called to come to the hospital would have been the last thing he would have wanted. Though the sobering realization he has to go home and face him, explain himself to him isn’t all too appealing either. 

There’s a gross feeling that comes over him, this feeling as if he’s cheated in some way despite the fact they aren’t even dating. There is nothing between them except for friendship and a newly found work relationship which admittedly makes the prospect of a romantic relationship odd. He knows after ditching him and not answering his texts or calls all through the night and into the morning that he runs a high chance of Oswald not wanting to work with him or be his friend any longer. It’s one of the things that causes him to stall in his car debating on if he should go home or continue to stall the inevitable. 

“Just get it over with.” He mutters to himself as he inserts the key into the ignition.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to edit and lengthen this chapter, when I looked at it again I wasn't overly thrilled with it and I've had writer's block lately. I do promise a new chapter super soon.

Even before Ed enters the parlor room, he can hear Oswald’s frantic yelling, he knows it’s about him. He idles in the doorway watching as the smaller man paces angrily around the room, angrily gesturing with his free hand as he demands the name and badge number of the poor bastard on the phone who is trying to explain to him that he has to wait a full twenty-four hours at the least before filing for a missing persons report mayor or not. 

Ed clears his throat to gain his attention when he realizes his friend hasn't noticed him standing in the doorway. Oswald pauses and turns ready to yell at whoever entered the room, the anger drops from his face replaced with relief as he drops the phone to the floor and hobbles quickly up to the other man. He wraps his arms around Ed’s waist hugging him tightly burying his face against his chest, if he smells the wine and the dirt on his clothes it doesn’t seem to matter, not right now. Ed is hesitant and careful as he returns his embrace, hand rubbing along his back as if to assure him he’s fine, it’s fine. Nothing’s fine.

“I was worried, I thought the worst when you didn’t come home an-and I was trying to get a hold of you, but…” He trails off as he pulls back enough to look at him, to assess the disheveled state his friend is in.

He grasps Oswald’s arms gently pushing him back a step, he can see that questioning look in his eyes as he attempts to piece clues together. “I’m sorry, I should have answered you.” Ed says calmly.

“Where were you?”

He’s tempted to reveal the truth that he was blackout drunk in the woods talking to his hallucinations, thought he saw his dead mom a time or two, explain to him his dad is in prison for many horrendous crimes, explain that schizophrenia runs in his family, lead to his uncle’s suicide. Instead he presses his lips into a thin line, drops his hands back to his sides. 

“I was busy…I needed to think about things.”

A lie wrapped in a slight truth; he did need to think. In this moment thinking is difficult, he finds himself just staring at him, thinking about the way the soft warm morning light makes him glow. He wants to hold him again, wants to pet his hair that he is certain would feel soft beneath his fingers.

“Did thinking by chance involve getting drunk?” There’s hurt in his voice, his worry turning to hurt that inevitably will turn to anger.

“Can we please talk about this later, I promise I’ll tell you everything.”

“I thought you had died, I thought somebody had killed you to try and get at me. Then you just come back home reeking of booze and covered in dirt and acting like it isn’t a big deal.” 

Ed places a hand on his shoulder, he strokes his thumb along the rich material of his dress shirt. Oswald glares up at him, but doesn't pull away from his touch. 

“I’m not going to pretend it isn’t a big deal, but I would really like to be able to bathe before we discuss things further. Once I get cleaned up, we can talk, okay?” 

Oswald relaxes slightly, he averts his eyes and shrugs Ed’s hand off his shoulder. “Fine, just don’t lie to me.” 

He wants to tell him that he won’t, but the truth is terrifying. He knows how easily he could be readmitted to Arkham and maybe he belongs there. His nightmare lingers in his mind, he wants to brush his fingers against his neck to feel his pulse, to be certain there are no bruises and that inside his chest there is a beating heart. 

He turns and quietly leaves the room, he knows that he needs a way to explain himself.

He feels an overwhelming relief when he enters what has been dubbed as his bedroom. A medium sized room he's rather sure used to belong to Oswald's half sister, the only clue he'd found confirming that had been a box of makeup and a dress hidden away in the closet. Since moving in he's decorated the room sparsely, keeping his books and his video games alphabetized on the book case next to the window that overlooks the expansive property. Connected to the bedroom is a bathroom, close to the same size as the master bathroom. Being able to close and lock the bedroom door behind him is a comfort, he sighs in relief leaning his forehead against the cool wooden surface. He just needs time, they both need time. He pulls away from the door and removes his jacket, tie, and then his once white dress shirt that is now muddied with grass stuck to it. His clothes are a disaster that he could possibly wash, he'd removed worse stains from not just his clothes but Oswald's as well in the past. He balls up his clothes and tosses them onto the foot of his bed. He heads into the bathroom where he removes the remainder of his clothes tossing them into the laundry basket. He sets his glasses down on the counter and makes his way to the shower. 

 

As he adjust the water temperature he considers what he's going to say to Oswald. There's a part of him that wants to sell him lies, it would be safer to lie to him. Oswald knows him though, he won't judge, Ed just prays he won't look at him as if he pities him. It's one thing Ed can't stand, when people look at him in a pitying way; he'd dealt with it as a child, he'd dealt with it as a teenager, and even into his adult years. People pitied him for varying reasons, it always leaves him feeling as if they can't treat him as an equal, though these days he wants to be above most of them.

He climbs into the shower smiling as his tense muscles relax under the hot spray of water. Nothing like a long night drunk and having a breakdown in the woods to make one appreciate the joys of a shower. He hums to himself as he begins cleaning himself off letting the dirt of last night's events wash down the drain. He decides he's going to be as honest with him as he needs to be, he knows he owes him a date, he knows he should apologize to him daily for the next week for his transgression. He turns off the water and steps out of the shower, he grabs a towel and begins drying off before returning to his bedroom. He settles on dressing in black dress pants and a white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he retrieves his glasses from the bathroom and gives himself a moment before heading downstairs.


	5. Chapter 5

Oswald’s sitting on the loveseat downstairs, a tray with a teapot and two teacups sits on the coffee table in front of him. The scene reminds him of the last time they were on the sofa together, he subconsciously strokes his fingers against his neck as if the ring of bruises should still be there. He knows he should have kissed him then, but to be fair he had been hoping Oswald would initiate such an interaction.

Ed’s quick to notice that Oswald no longer looks angry, he looks anxious and he can imagine his current state of fidgeting with his fingers and his clothes is the way he was throughout the night waiting for him to show up to their date. Oswald looks up at him when he enters the room, he gestures towards the tray on the table.

“I made us tea; it can be helpful for hangovers.” He says smiling softly.

“Thank you, you really didn’t have to.” Ed says as he goes to take a seat next to him. 

“It’s no trouble, I just wanted to show that I’m not completely angry with you.”

“You would have every right to be. Oswald I’m so sorry for not coming home last night, it was asinine and immature of me.”

Oswald takes hold of his hand giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I know, you aren’t the type of man to just ditch like that.” He pauses for a moment before speaking again. “I-it wasn’t that big of a deal anyways.” He says attempting to laugh it off as he pulls his hand away from Ed’s.

He can see him retreating trying to backtrack. He takes hold of his hand stroking his thumb across his knuckles, Oswald stares down at their joined hands, mouth open as if he’s about to apologize or explain himself in some way. 

“Oswald, not showing up was wrong of me. When I was at the store, I saw a woman who held a slight resemblance to Ms. Kringle and it scared me, I know I should have called you or even my old psychiatrist, but I didn’t.” He watches him worrying that just maybe the truth will make him see he really isn’t all too well, not well enough to be out of Arkham, but so far, he just seems to be patiently listening. “I can’t imagine what I put you through last night, I know that date was important to you.” 

He fights back the urge to smile when he notices the sudden blush on Oswald’s cheeks. “I understand, but next time please tell me….I, you’re my friend, I care about you, and I want you to know I’m always here for you.” 

“I promise, I’ll tell you next time that something happens. I…It’s just you went to the trouble to get me out of Arkham and I’ve just wanted to be at my best for you, I don’t want to disappoint you.” He confesses, he feels moronic caring so much, exposing his insecurities to him.

“Ed you haven’t disappointed me in the least. Having you here with me has been so great, I can’t express just how much you being here has meant to me.” 

Ed swallows hard, hesitantly he reaches up to gently stroke his fingers against the other man’s cheek. “Oswald, what was it that you’ve been wanting to tell me?” He quietly asks, he worries that he’ll back out again. He worries that after last night the feelings that could be there are faded but the way Oswald’s looking at him sparks hope that he still very much feels that way.

“I love you; I haven’t found the right way to tell you, but I love you.” He speaks the words like they’re a full relief to finally get out in the open.

Ed gathers him up in his arms hugging him tightly, “I love you too.” He whispers burying his face against the side of his neck, his lips brushing against his skin. 

Oswald relaxes in his embrace; Ed pets his fingers through his hair continuing to whisper the words against his neck between gentle lingering kisses that send chills down his partner’s spine. He knows what this means to him, to be accepted, to be loved. He’s determined to give him all that he needs.

He pulls back to look at him, he places a hand against his cheek, Oswald leans into his touch. “I know that I owe you a date. Tonight, I’ll cook for you, anything you want. You can have me all to yourself today, I promise not to run off.” He says smiling, Oswald laughs.

Ed strokes his thumb against his cheek, he leans in brushing his lips against his, Oswald presses his lips more firmly against his kissing him. Ed places his hand against his leg as he teasingly nips his bottom lip eliciting a soft moan from him, Oswald pulls away blushing softly. 

“I’ll hold you to that promise.” He whispers.

“If you have any doubts you can always tie me up.” He teases grinning.

Oswald kisses him again; he rests a hand against the back of his neck keeping him close. “That’s tempting, maybe some other time.”

“Promise?” He asks as he presses a kiss against his jaw.

He hums in response as he gently scratches his nails against Ed’s scalp, his lips travel along his jaw and down the side of his neck. He takes note of the numerous freckles littered across his pale skin. There’s a fear and a comfort in loving him and being loved by him, he tells himself he’s going to do his best to keep history from repeating itself, he refuses to lose him in such a way. The fear of this being fleeting and temporary instead of forever makes him want to love him all the more.


End file.
